On My Nerves
by NiteJasmine
Summary: *Something Different!* Set early S4. House discovers a radical new procedure by a brilliant lady surgeon in Houston that could actually FIX his leg... and he goes for it. Nice break from all the dark asylum/rehab stuff. M for language.
1. Chapter 1

**ON MY NERVES**

**STORY SUMMARY: *Something Different!* (Set at the beginning of Season Four.) House discovers a radical new surgical procedure developed by a brilliant lady surgeon in Texas. This new breakthrough procedure could actually **_**fix**_** his leg, and he goes for it…**

**The opening chapter is the "feature article" in **_**The New England Journal of Medicine**_**, which House reads. It's kinda long, but it gives some interesting background, and it is the dynamic catalyst that sets him off on his journey…**

**AUTHORS NOTE: This is an old story line that I had kinda kicking around for a while, and just never got to play with it. Add in one long, sleepless night not too long ago, and here's what you get! And I found it refreshing to take a break from all the current dark & heavy asylum/rehab/depressed/hallucination-filled House stories, and doing something a little softer and brighter for a bit… **

**This story dials back the clock, back to an early Season Four House, when he was without a team, and he was, well, just **_**HOUSE…**_** The House we all know and love so well… ENJOY!**

**Rated M/Adult for language, and just to be safe!**

**All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…**

**NITEJASMINE**

On My Nerves

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

XXXXX

House flopped himself down on his sofa, picked up the glossy magazine that had just arrived in the mail, and began flipping through it. He stopped when he came across this one particular article:

_**NEW ENGLAND JOURNAL OF MEDICINE**_

_**NEW SURGERY FOR NERVE DAMAGE AND CHRONIC PAIN**_

_**Brilliant Texas Surgeon Develops Breakthrough Procedure**_

_A new breakthrough surgical technique has been developed by a brilliant Texas Neurologist for repairing damaged nerves. The results have been phenomenal, and the procedure is being hailed as one of the biggest medical breakthroughs in years._

_The talented physician responsible for inventing and perfecting this new technique is Dr. Katrina Tomlinson. She is the Chief Neurosurgeon at the Denton Cooley Institute, a recently dedicated wing which operates within the world renowned Houston Medical Center in Houston, Texas. The 44 year old Florida native has a history of pushing the upper limits of Research & Development in Pain Management. She had long been a forerunner in developing and putting into practice numerous alternative drug abuse treatment solutions, and radically more humane addiction cessation programs. She is responsible for spearheading the creation of several new non-opiate drug composites for treating a broad variety of pain syndromes. _

_But this new surgical procedure goes far beyond the scope of drugs, into the realm of what was once thought to be surgically impossible. Repairing damaged nerves on a neural-microscopic level._

_Dr. Tomlinson adapted this specialized procedure from the coarse vein-grafting procedures originally utilized for heart patients that had experienced myocardial infarctions and had suffered various ranges of cardiac nerve stem damage._

_However, she radically advanced that concept. She has miniaturized, honed, developed and perfected this highly specialized technique, and has expertly expanded it to encompass other nerve centers and pathways throughout the body, especially those damaged as a result of tissue collapse due to traumatic blood loss or muscle damage due to strokes, pulmonary deficiencies or infarctions._

_There have been wide spread and dramatically positive results in patients suffering from severe chronic pain, which make up the largest percentage of her patient base. The majority of the patients undergoing the procedure have seen significant reduction in pain levels, and there have been cases where the pain was eliminated completely. All patients were able to fully function after the procedure without the need or use of any prescription pain medications or analgesics. A very minute percentage of patients did utilize some over-the-counter pain remedies, however these were occasional and widely intermittent, and not the norm._

_The procedure is time-consuming and very demanding, as compared to any other standard surgical procedure. Only Dr. Tomlinson and her immediate surgical team are fully trained and able to perform the delicate procedure, and Dr. Tomlinson herself performs each operation personally. Understandably, Dr. Tomlinson and her staff have become in quite high demand, and have now laid claim to their own wing within the hospital, where her hand-picked staff handles and oversees both the intensive pre-op care as well as the full ICU, post-op and physical therapy treatment of each patient. This wing was dedicated recently as the Denton Cooley Institute (DCI)._

_Her list of patients has grown significantly within the last 6 months since Dr. Tomlinson began performing these surgeries, and the procedures continue to yield record-breaking and dramatically successful results. Now the current patient waiting list is up to 2 years, with severe chronic pain sufferers gaining a slight advantage over other candidates. Even the waiting list for a physician to physician consult is over 6 months at present, and continuing to grow exponentially._

_Additionally, this incredibly talented surgeon has been inundated with requests for fellowships, understudies, and outright partnerships. A host of other surgeons are clamoring to be trained in her new specialized technique, but so far, DCI is the only place where both the full care program and the procedure have been perfected and are in current full time practice. At the time of this publication, Dr. Tomlinson's schedule did not allow for any personal interviews._

_This is the newest 'cutting edge' surgical procedure and Dr. Katrina Tomlinson is being heralded as one of the most brilliant and talented surgeons in the medical profession today._

_-Houston, Texas_

XXXXX

House read the article over three times, then put the magazine down and grabbed his phone, quickly arranging a flight to Houston. He had plenty of vacation time coming, and plus, he would be able to stall off the deplorable task of hiring a new team…

He simply _had_ to go check this out…

Both Cuddy and Wilson were more than happy to see him even remotely interested in any kind of pain management treatment, and offered their strong support and encouragement for his trip to the Denton Cooley Institute. 48 hours later, Dr. Greg House hailed a taxi at the Houston Airport and headed for DCI…

XXXXX


	2. Ch2: Meet The Doc

**ON MY NERVES, Chapter 2: Meet The Doc**

**House meets the brilliant surgeon and works his way into getting admitted…**

**Rated M/Adult for language, and just to be safe!**

**All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…**

**NITEJASMINE**

On My Nerves, Chapter 2: Meet The Doc

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

XXXXX

"Hello, Mr…. Tovopolis," she said as the walked into the room and turned to close the door. "I'm Dr. Katrina Tomlinson…"

She took a look at the man sitting on the edge of the exam table and stopped. The man was tall, lean, looked maybe 50ish. He was toying with the handle of a gloss black cane that had orange flames painted on it. She checked her chart. No, this was not a 270 pound wine maker from Greece.

"You don't look like Mr. Tovopolis," she said, slightly puzzled. She wondered who on her staff had screwed up the charts.

House simply grinned at her.

He was taken aback just a bit at her appearance. He had seen numerous pictures of her during his on-line research prior to coming here. But they had all been stiff, professionally posed photos of a gifted, award-winning doctor. Almost hard to believe that this attractive woman was the brilliant, breakthrough surgeon that he had read all about. In person, she was much softer and far prettier than he had expected. Tall and lean, but with nice curves. Shoulder length chestnut brown hair, soft hazel brown eyes, and a light soothing voice, almost melodic.

She's probably a great singer, he thought to himself. He could picture her stretched out on top of his piano in a sexy black dress, lending her silky voice to some very sensual blues tunes…

But then he just as quickly pushed those thoughts aside and refocused himself.

"Turns out, that Greek guy decided he wanted $800 bucks more than he wanted to see you today," he said smugly.

Her features clouded over quickly. She was not pleased. She huffed and turned to leave the room.

"That's not the way it works here," she said, clearly annoyed. "Call the desk, make an appointment. I don't have time for this." She tossed the chart on the table and jerked open the door.

"Wait…" he said rather loudly, his voice going serious, suddenly afraid that his flippancy was going to screw this up.

"Just give me a minute?" He asked, genuinely sincere. "Please?" He added that last word hesitantly, and immediately hated the slightly needy, pleading tone he heard in his own voice. But he knew he was only going to get one shot at her, he couldn't just let her walk out…

She heard the changed tone in his voice too. She had heard that tone before, many, many times. She recognized it instantly, and that's why she stopped. She had heard it in every single long-term severe chronic pain sufferer that she had ever done an intake interview with. It was the sound of someone in torment, desperate for relief from their crushing pain, but valiantly attempting to mask it with bravado, arrogance or sarcasm.

She had also seen first-hand the broad reach of extremes of people in severe unrelenting pain; ranging from near-catatonic withdrawal and suicidal depression to cruel bullying and enraged brutal violence. But she didn't peg him to be any of those. But, the _tone was there_. OK, so maybe this guy _does_ belong here…

She closed the door and turned around, crossing her arms and leveling an expectant stare at him.

"You have one minute," she said coolly.

"I'm Greg House," he said calmly. "And I needed to get in here and see you way more than Mr. Shishkabob."

She ignored the sarcasm, waiting for him to continue.

He had succeeded in getting her attention. And as much as he hated to open up, to expose himself, to reveal anything, he knew he couldn't waste this chance. He would not get another one. He took a deep breath and quickly rattled off the abbreviated version of what he knew she needed to hear.

"Six years ago. Right thigh. Infarction. Presented with pain at level 7. Escalated to 10 in less than 24 hours. Misdiagnosed. Chemically induced coma, unauthorized surgery. Too late. Muscle death. Nerve damage. Severe chronic pain. Current treatment Vicodin," he paused for a moment, "addicted."

She quietly studied him for a minute, absorbing, observing. She could see that her silent gaze made him uncomfortable, but she stayed quiet for a bit longer, taking everything in. Disheveled and unkempt, typical of a chronic painer. But his eyes were sharp, piercing, and very intelligent. And he knew exactly what she wanted to hear, and had given it to her in a perfect format. Too perfect.

She ventured a guess…

"Very succinct," she said, flatly. "You a doctor?"

"Yes."

She paused again before asking him more.

"How much Vicodin do you take?" She queried, catching him slightly off guard.

"Per dose, or in a day?" He fired back, being flippant.

She smirked slightly.

"An average day," she said. "Break it down for me. When and how much."

It had been so long since anyone had even asked him about his leg, much less wanted him to talk about his pain and his addiction so frankly and openly. But he forced himself to set his inner struggles aside and answer her honestly.

"Morning's the worst, waking up," he said, almost quietly. "40 to 60 migs. Consistent 5 to 10 mig doses throughout the day, about every 2 hours, sometimes more. Another 30 to 40 migs before bed. And you can up that significantly if the weather's bad."

He looked down at the floor, away from her unwavering stare. He could feel her analyzing his every move, his every word. It felt like she trying to pry him open and peek inside. He hated that feeling of being watched and evaluated by anyone, especially her.

"When's the last time you had your liver checked?" She asked, not smiling.

"My liver's fine," he answered, looking up at her.

She narrowed her eyes, mentally deliberating. She knew a difficult case when she saw one. He had forced his way in here by being manipulative and selfish. He had the smug arrogance of someone very intelligent and medically trained. And more than likely he would have some problems following rules, as well as some serious trust issues. But from what she could determine so far, he _was_ a perfect candidate, and she was already fairly positive that she could help him. She made her decision.

"If I take you on, you will be my _patient_," she said firmly, her eyes focused on him. "Your doctor status doesn't mean squat here. I'm in charge, not you. You follow _my_ orders, play by _my_ rules, follow _my_ instructions. No exceptions. You fight me, argue with me, abuse my staff, refuse to do anything that you're told, or do anything disruptive, and you're _out_. Instantly. Is that absolutely clear?"

He nodded. She relaxed a little.

"Full blood workup, chem 7, CBC," she ordered. "And a new MRI. Plus fresh PET and CT scans. We can do all that here, once you're admitted."

She opened the door, summoned one of her staff and requested a new patient chart, waiting for a moment until she got it.

Then, chart in hand, she closed the door and scribbled a few notes on it. She pulled off a chunky portion of papers from the package on the chart and handed them to him.

"And a _complete_ pain profile," she said evenly. "No bullshit answers. And fill out the rest of that stuff too. How quickly can I get a full set of your medical records?"

Before he could answer her, there was a brisk knock on the door, and a young looking male nurse in surgical scrubs stuck his head in.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we're prepped for you in OR 3, scrubbing in 10 minutes, or whenever you're ready," he said, his voice cool and professional.

"That's fine, Tony, thanks," she replied. "I'll be right there. Send in Carrie if you would, please? I have a new intake. Mr. House here will be staying."

House noted that she left off the "doctor" title when referring to him, and actually he was glad for it. To have that pressure temporarily removed, to just be a plain old patient and have someone else making all the tough decisions for a change.

The young man nodded and disappeared from the doorway. Minutes later, a heavy set nurse with short black hair came into the room carrying a large plastic bag and a pale green gown. Dr. Tomlinson gave the nurse a few instructions before giving her parting remarks to House.

"Mr. House, Nurse Allinson will handle your admission," she told him. "I expect you will cooperate fully with her. Give your paperwork to her when you have it completed, and let her know who to call to get your medical records expedited to me. I'll check in with you when I make rounds this evening. Right now, I have surgery."

Then she turned and quickly left the room. House sighed heavily. He felt immense relief at having her accept him as a patient, but the stress and apprehension of the unknown began to gnaw at him. He did his best to bury his innermost fears and turned his attention to the nurse issuing him his instructions…

XXXXX

Some hours later, dressed only in a thin pale green hospital gown, he was propped up in his bed between the crisp white sheets. He was flipping through the limited channels on the TV and growing more bored by the minute. His clothes and all his personal affects had been deposited into the large plastic bag provided by nurse Allinson, and she had then sealed and secured everything in a closet with his name on it. Pointless, he thought, since he was currently in a private room and there was nobody else in the room to worry about. The only thing he had been allowed to keep possession of was his cane and his Vicodin. He flipped the bottle open and popped one, before standing it on the table next to his bed.

He had completed all the tiresome paperwork, and when the nurse came to retrieve it, she had thoughtfully brought a stack of dog-eared magazines for him. They weren't exactly high-end reading, but learning what Angelina Jolie likes for breakfast and what men _really_ want out of oral sex kept him entertained for a while.

About an hour or so after it had turned dark outside, Dr. Tomlinson came in. She looked quite tired, but still gave him her full attention. She walked over and stood next to his bed, and smiled warmly at him. He put the magazine down on top of the stack.

"Comfortable?" She asked.

"Sure," he replied. "Cable lineup sucks though."

She chuckled softly. "True," she agreed.

"Get some rest tonight," she continued, switching to a more formal mode. "You'll get a full briefing and program outline in the morning. We'll go over everything and I'll answer any questions you have. Okay?"

He nodded. "Okay."

She looked over and picked up the amber bottle from the table, turning it in her hands and reading the label.

House watched her. There were not a lot of pills left inside, barely enough to get him through tomorrow, if he was conservative. Which he rarely ever was.

"Gonna need a refill from you," he stated simply.

She put the bottle back down on the table, then looked at him and smiled knowingly. He didn't know why, but the look unnerved him.

"No you won't," she said, shaking her head.

"Relax," she finished lightheartedly. "Get some sleep. See you in the morning."

And she turned and left his room, still smiling.

He looked over at the small number of pills in the bottle next to his bed, and wondered what exactly she had meant by that…

XXXXX

He slept OK, considering that he was anxious, and not in his own bed. He took a couple Vicodin when he first woke up around 5AM, then another after he clicked on the TV and quickly got bored again. He wished he had brought something to read. It was just getting light outside. He was antsy, which only served to boost the pain in his leg and make it more difficult to distract himself. He got up and paced around the room, noting that he had a decent view of some kind of park out of his window. Big trees and flower beds with paved pathways and park benches. He considered touring the hospital, but decided against that right now. He took another couple of pills before finally giving up and climbing back into his bed around 7AM, not happy about the steadily diminishing number of pills remaining in the little bottle.

XXXXX

Dr. Tomlinson came into his room about 8AM, looking rested.

Just as she walked in, House had his Vicodin bottle in his hand, about to pop it open. When he saw her, though, he put the bottle back on the table by his bed.

"Good Morning," she said pleasantly. "Sleep well?" She laid his chart down at the foot of his bed and stood next to him.

"Not bad," he answered.

"Good," she replied. "This could be a very busy day for you Greg. Is it OK if I call you Greg?"

"Sure, Katrina," he quipped.

She smiled broadly, showing off beautiful, prefect white teeth.

"My friends call me Kit," she said, pulling a stethoscope from her pocket.

"Lean forward for me," she asked. She moved closer to him, pulling him into almost a half hug as she pressed the instrument against his back. He could feel the warmth of her body next to him, and a faint soft floral scent. Nice. He was quiet for a minute, then he offered his opinion.

"They should call you something else," he said quietly. "That's way too cutesy for you."

"Shhhh. Deep breaths," she ordered gently, but he could hear the smile in her voice. He complied.

"Any breathing problems? Recent flu, colds, anything like that?" She asked, moving around his back, listening.

He shook his head. "Nope."

"OK. Lean back. Look at me," she said, putting hand on each side of his neck, just under his jaw line. She softly kneaded, checking his glands. Her hands were soft and warm.

"Since midnight, how much Vicodin have you had?" she asked simply.

He thought for a minute.

"Thirty."

She stopped, pulled her hands away and looked at him evenly.

"Greg. I don't judge, I treat. The procedure you are here for has a very intensive pre-op program, which we're going to go over in detail very shortly. However, if you don't tell me what I need to know, then I can't treat you, and you may as well just pack up your things and go home right now."

She paused, letting that sink in, then continued.

"So, let's try the truth, shall we? It will make everything a whole lot easier. Now how much Vicodin have you taken since midnight?"

House took a deep breath and licked his lips, feeling like a scolded schoolboy and absolutely hating it.

"Fifty," he finally answered honestly, averting his eyes.

She relaxed, and the smile came back.

"Thank you," she said. "Much better."

She put her stethoscope back into her pocket and pulled out a small penlight.

"Look at me," she ordered.

House obeyed, and let her check his eyes. Then he tolerated her poking and prodding at him like a first year med student. While at the same time she was grilling him with a host of inane, totally irrelevant and unrelated questions. He answered them, but his patience was wearing thin and he was getting quite annoyed with the pace of this whole scenario. Finally, he'd had enough.

"Do you do this bullshit with all of your patients?" He snapped at her, not even trying to mask his irritation. "No wonder your waiting list is two years long. Look, I filled out your mountain of paperwork, and my medical files are on their way. As if you would actually _read_ any of it. My _leg_ is the problem, not the date of my last flu shot. So can we skip all this nicey-nice crap and just get to the intake interview?"

She took his little outburst in stride. She calmly put her pen away, and laid her hands on the edge of his bed. She stood there and just studied him quietly for a moment. He realized that he hated it when she did that. Something about the way she looked at him, it made him feel exposed, and extremely uncomfortable.

"This _is_ an intake interview," she said finally, breaking the long silence. "_My_ intake interview. Remember when I said you have to play by _my_ rules? Well, this was a test. To see how compliant you could be to doing what _I_ wanted you to do, just because I wanted you to do it."

He felt his stomach tighten. Oh, shit.

"And no, I don't do this level of bullshit with all of my patients. Only the ones I think might prove combative or difficult, and if I haven't actually decided if I'm going to let them stay or not yet."

He looked away from her.

"That answer your question, Greg?" She finished.

"Yeah," he replied, sounding defeated. "Guess I'll be going."

She smiled at him again.

"No," she said warmly. "You can stay. Actually, you didn't do all that badly. I've had patients try and physically attack me the second I walk through the door. You lasted a good 15 minutes. I have to say, your patience and tolerance levels are pretty low, which _does_ concern me. But I think I can work with you."

House felt immediate relief.

"Try and behave?" She asked him.

"I'll try."

"Okay. Enough with the bullshit," she said, pulling a stool from the corner of the room and rolling it over next to his bed. She plunked herself down on it and picked up his chart. "Your medical files arrived this morning. It's a sizable file, so I have not completely digested all of it, but I did scan through it enough to know what I'm working with. And I _did _read through all of your intake paperwork as well. I found your pain profile very interesting. Your Vicodin usage has quadrupled since your post-infarction surgery. Maybe ever higher than that," she paused, raising an eyebrow at him.

He didn't answer her right away. He still found the topic very difficult to talk about.

"Maybe a little," he finally got out.

"Thought so," she continued. "That's OK. Mind if I take a look?" She asked, motioning to his thigh.

He swallowed hard.

"You're gonna see it eventually," he answered, his tension ratcheting up. He laid back on the bed.

She got up and stood next to him, gently pulled back the sheet over his right leg, and pushed up the hem of his thin gown just enough to reveal his damaged thigh. He tried to stay calm and uncaring, but he still couldn't help himself. She barely touched the center of his large scar and he jumped.

"It's OK, Greg, I won't hurt you," she said softly, and began to run her fingers over the entire scar. Her touch was tender, gentle, like a velvet glove. But he still had to battle his rising anxiety.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. It had been so long since anyone but himself had even seen his scarred leg, much less touched it. The intensity of the event was overwhelming.

She kept touching him, gauging his reaction. She could see his high stress level at having his damaged thigh exposed to her. He had a handful of sheet knotted up in a fist in his left hand, squeezing it tightly. She continued to let her fingers gently wander, roaming over every inch of his thick scar while she watched him, lying there with his eyes closed, struggling to stay calm and allow her complete access, to do whatever she wanted. Good. He was doing _very_ good. She decided not to push him too far. She finally removed her hand and silently replaced his gown and sheet, watching him visibly relax. She was impressed.

"How's your pain level right now?" She asked him as he slowly opened his eyes and sat back up.

"About a five," he answered honestly, still working on leveling his breathing. "I could use another pill."

She casually reached over and quickly handed him the bottle, which completely surprised him. She watched him pop one and dry swallow it. She'd seen that trick before, most long-term chronic painers always seemed to learn that one pretty quick.

"Thanks," he told her.

"Sure," she said, genuinely sincere. "Take all you need. Finish off that bottle if you wish. It won't matter. Because after today, you won't be getting any more Vicodin."

That stunned him.

"What?" he asked quickly. "Are you talking detox? Are you serious?" That horrible feeling was back in the pit of his stomach. Maybe this was a big mistake.

"Yes, I'm talking detox, and yes, I'm serious," she replied, lightly mocking him. "Pre-requisite for surgery."

Then she saw the genuine fear and panic in his eyes and she immediately backed off, softening.

"Hey, relax Greg," she said soothingly. "We're not talking about some barbaric treatment out of the dark ages where we strap you to the bed and make you ride it out cold turkey."

He nearly broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about it, but he kept listening.

"Far from it," she continued. "You will be given a specific regimen of drugs that will help you detox, quickly and relatively painlessly. Granted, it's not exactly a picnic at the beach, but you'll be fully supervised and we will do everything we can to make you as comfortable as possible. We also have several alternative, non-opiate pain meds available, and we'll find one that works for you. Our method of detox is usually completed within a few days. Then we can schedule your surgery. Okay?"

He swallowed hard, and nodded again. "Okay," he said quietly.

"Now, for the good stuff," she said, her smile returning. She retook her seat on the stool. "Let's go over the whole program. I'll tell you everything that's going to happen, and answer any questions you have."

House relaxed more and more as they talked, and the more he learned, the more comfortable he became. It was the first time in years that he actually began to let himself believe that there was hope. That this would work. Much more so than the short-lived ketamine treatment. This was a permanent solution. A solution that, until a few months ago, was thought absolutely impossible. But yet here they were discussing it like they were talking about tomorrow's lunch menu.

The full gravity and scope of the whole situation finally hit House. She could fix his leg. _Fix it._ Fix _him_. It was mind-blowing. And all because of the brains and skills of this one single woman sitting in front of him. She could give him what he thought was absolutely lost and gone forever. She could give him his _life_ back…

She also went over all of the possible side-effects, drawbacks and potential complications. House listened, but he already knew nothing was going to stop him. He was going to have this surgery, come hell or high water. He would do anything she asked, give her anything she wanted, or die trying. Dr. Kit Tomlinson was going to be his sole focus of existence from now on…

The last topic did get his attention though. She got very serious as she explained that in a very small number of extreme cases, the body completely rejected the repaired nerves, causing a severely painful, deadly, and irreversible reaction. If that happened, the only option was immediate full amputation. He acknowledged the fact, but was still undaunted.

She told him that all of the details and everything they had discussed would be reduced to writing, and he should review all of it thoroughly and consider all of it carefully before signing his consent. He said to just make sure that when she brought the paperwork, to be sure and bring a pen at the same time. She smiled.

It was nearly lunchtime when she finally got up to leave his room.

"Lunch should be coming around soon, I already signed you up this morning," she said, rolling the stool back into the corner. "Once you've had a chance to eat something, we'll get going on all your tests. Blood work first, then," she checked his chart, "looks like PET and CT scans this afternoon, MRI tonight. Nurse Allinson is assigned to you, she'll be your official chauffer and tour guide. She will be bringing your consent forms by shortly. Once you've looked them over and signed them, we can start you on your detox meds first thing in the morning."

She hung his chart on the foot rail of the bed.

"Welcome to _my_ world, Greg," she said, giving him a warm, caring smile. "Trust me. I promise I'll take very good care of you."

She flashed that dazzling smile of hers again, then turned and left the room.

House sat there in his bed, somewhat overwhelmed. Yes, he was scared. And yes, his leg hurt. But he had to admit it… he hadn't actually felt this _good_ in years.

XXXXX


	3. Ch3: No More Vicodin

**ON MY NERVES, Chapter 3: No More Vicodin**

**Dr. Tomlinson helps her new patient detox…**

**Rated M/Adult for language, and just to be safe!**

**All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…**

**NITEJASMINE**

On My Nerves, Chapter 3: No More Vicodin

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

XXXXX

House was lying in his hospital bed, half-rolled onto his left side. During the night, he had managed to wrap his sheets into a tangled mess. He had managed to get an hour or two of fitful sleep, but that had been it. He had stretched his only bottle of Vicodin out as far as he could, but he had been right. It hadn't last him the whole day. Just after dinner, he had been holding an empty bottle. It didn't take long after that for the pain in his leg began to climb up the scale rapidly.

He had his right hand clamped around his injured thigh, trying vainly to massage it away. His hands had begun to shake just as the morning light began to creep into his room, which was about the time he was unable to stay silent any longer. He was moaning lowly, riding the waves of pain. He had been through detox before, he knew what was coming, and he was filled with both fear and dread for it.

But if Dr. Kit Tomlinson said he had to do it, then he was going to fucking do it.

Around 7AM, Kit walked into his room, her usual chipper self.

"Good Morning Greg," she said as she strode in. "We have some detox options to discuss…" But as soon as she saw him, she went serious and rushed to his side.

"Greg, hey," she said, her voice calm but serious. "What's wrong, are you in pain?" She gently rolled him onto his back. He initially resisted the movement, but finally managed to lay back somewhat flat while still holding his leg. She immediately recognized the initial symptoms of drug detox. She looked over at the table by his bed, and there stood the empty Vicodin bottle.

"When did you run out of Vicodin?" She asked him. "What time did you take the last one?"

He looked at her through pain filled eyes.

"About… 8 last night…" he told her through clenched teeth.

"Where are you on the scale? Give me a number."

He groaned. "…six," he answered.

"Mmm, more like pushing seven," she said.

Her face turned soft and sympathetic. She rubbed his right arm soothingly.

"You should have called, Greg," she said gently. "You don't have to be in pain. Not like this."

"Doesn't… matter," he grunted out. "Gonna start… my detox this morning… anyway."

She sighed.

"True. But let me repeat myself, you don't have to be in this much pain."

She reached up over his head and pressed the nurse call button on the wall. A voice immediately responded. "_Yes, Mr. House?_" came over the speaker.

"Carrie, this is Dr. Tomlinson. Would you bring me 10ccs of Varoquil 21 and a tourniquet please?"

"_Yes ma'am. Right away."_

Within seconds, the nurse appeared carrying a small tray. Kit quickly circled the bed to the other side, the nurse following her closely. She picked up the tourniquet and reached for Greg's left arm. He offered it readily. She wrapped the tight rubber around his upper arm and picked up the syringe. Quickly finding a vein, she injected him. He felt his entire body relax. The pain dropped immediately from the 6.8 it had been hovering at down to strong 3, and he stopped shaking. He sighed heavily with the relief, then laid there, still breathing hard.

She pulled the tourniquet off, and folded his arm up against his chest, keeping her hand over his.

"There. Better?" She asked.

He nodded, then closed his eyes and just laid there for a minute.

"Good. Give it a few minutes to take full effect. The pain should still back off a little more. Just relax."

He opened his eyes and looked over at her. She pulled her stethoscope out, and went about checking him over, monitoring his vitals. Over the next five minutes, the pain slowly dropped down to an easy 2. She finished her quick check-up and looked down at him with that lovely warm smile of hers.

"You look much better now," she told him.

"Thank you," he said, feeling immense gratitude.

"You're welcome. I guess we just found your new pre-op pain medication," she said, still smiling.

She relaxed, seeing that he was recovering quickly. She felt bad that he had been laying here in torment all night, but he thought he had to. She had read his medical file, and included among some of the interesting adventures he had experienced, he had been through some absolutely brutal detox treatments, and more than once. But that was not going to happen here. She was going to make sure he didn't have to go through anything like that again.

"Listen," she told him. "The whole suffering in silence thing doesn't fly here. You ever have pain that gets beyond a level 3, you tell someone." She looked at him sternly. "Got it?"

"Yeah, got it." He replied.

"OK. Good." She retrieved his chart from the foot of the bed and made a few notes.

"Now, you have a choice to make. We _are_ going to start your detox treatment this morning. You can choose to stay awake and normally functional during treatment. The detox meds will be at a slightly lower dosage, so the detox does take a little longer, usually about 4 days or so. But the upside is that your post-op physical therapy will be much shorter. The other option is sedation. We can detox you faster and you sleep through it for about 72 hours, but you'll have significant muscle weakness from the inactivity, and the post-op PT will be harder and last much longer."

She let him absorb the info.

"I hate physical therapy," he said, fairly quickly. "I'll go with option one."

She nodded.

"You got it," she replied.

She checked her watch.

"I have a heavy surgery schedule today," she told him. "So you won't see me until sometime tomorrow. Nurse Allinson will get your monitors hooked up and your IV started. She will be watching over you 24/7 and controlling your meds. You have any kind of pain, problem, anything… you make sure you tell her. Understand?"

"We want to keep you as comfortable as possible, Mr. House," the nurse chimed in.

"I will," he promised.

"Ugh, I gotta go," Kit said, checking her watch again. "Greg, once you're all hooked up, make sure you get some rest, OK? I'll see you tomorrow." She patted his arm and walked away.

He nodded and watched her leave.

Nurse Allinson was very good. She had his IV and monitors all installed quickly and efficiently. Then she pleasantly asked if there was anything else she could get for him. He yawned and tiredly said no. She reminded him that she would be monitoring him, but that he shouldn't hesitate to summon her for anything he needed. She then told him to get some sleep, and left the room.

House was already dozing off before the door shut, and comfortably fast asleep within minutes.

XXXXX


	4. Ch4: Ups & Downs

**ON MY NERVES, Chapter 4: Ups & Downs**

**House continues his treatment at DCI… One day closer to his surgery…**

**Rated M/Adult for language, and just to be safe!**

**All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…**

**NITEJASMINE**

On My Nerves, Chapter 4: Ups & Downs

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

XXXXX

House slept comfortably for a few hours, the meds he was on doing an admirable job of keeping him comfortable. His monitor leads transmitted their continuous stream of data to the bank of screens at the main nurse's station, and to his ever vigilant assigned personal nurse, Miss Carrie Allinson. The volume on the units themselves were all turned almost all the way down, so the soft beeping noises were barely audible in his room.

He woke up feeling somewhat rested, but thirsty and slightly nauseous. It was almost the middle of the day. He looked around for anything to drink, but there was nothing in his room. Not even a cup of water.

As if on cue, Nurse Allinson appeared with another small tray, holding 2 chilled bottles of water, a can of Ginger Ale, and a generous pile of wrapped saltine crackers.

She had been through this same routine so any times, with so many different patients, it was near second nature to her. Still, she knew she needed to focus her sincere attention. All of Dr. Tomlinson's staff had been hand-picked for this center based on their abilities in handling the mental health aspects of the treatments, as well as their high level of base medical skills and excellent bedside manners. They all knew that one slip with a touchy or dicey patient at the wrong moment and the consequences could be disastrous. This phase of treatment was just as much psychological as it was physical, maybe more so.

"Here you go Mr. House," she said pleasantly, setting the tray down by his bed. "At this phase, dehydration is a potential side effect of your detox treatment. The saline in your IV will help keep you hydrated, but you should still drink plenty of fluids. And these will help settle your stomach."

He grabbed a bottle of water and tore open a couple crackers, munching away on them.

"How's your pain?" She asked him.

He took a big gulp of water, feeling the calming chill all the way down.

"Okay," he replied. The pain was still holding at an even 2. Definitely manageable. He couldn't believe how well this was all going.

"Good," she answered. "If you have any pain increases, cramps, anything, be sure to let me know. Also, you could experience chills or possibly a fever. That can be treated as well, so again, just let me know. We want to keep you as comfortable as possible Mr. House."

"Greg," he told her.

Being called 'Doctor' House was fine with him, but anytime he was called 'Mister' House, it always reminded him of his father, and that always made him uncomfortable. So, switch to first names. Much better.

She smiled.

"Greg it is," she said pleasantly. "I'm Carrie."

He nibbled on some more crackers and finished off the first bottle of water.

"When will Dr. Tomlinson be out of surgery?" He asked. Even though he knew full well he wouldn't see her for at least another 18 hours, he found himself wanting to talk to her again anyway. Somehow just having her presence in the room made him feel good, she somehow alleviated the fears that he didn't want to admit that he had.

"Not until around 9 o'clock tonight, maybe later," the nurse replied. "That's why she said you won't see her until sometime tomorrow."

"I know, I was just curious," he answered quietly.

"I'll get you some more water," she said. "Would you like anything else to read?"

He wished he has his Nintendo DS or at least his iPod, he kicked himself for not thinking to bring that shit with him. But he hadn't actually believed that he would really be here, that he would be able to get this far so quickly. Even though he was thoroughly enjoying his new comfortable level of very manageable pain, he knew he would be easily bored. He still needed something to keep himself occupied and relatively distracted.

"Don't suppose you have any video games or decent music available," he queried.

She smiled again.

"You'd be surprised what we have around here," she said slyly. "Let me see what I can do."

She left the room, but returned about 10 minutes later with an older version Game Boy and 3 more bottles of water.

Greg flipped the on switch, and the little machine lit up and began playing the game's chimey-toned little theme song.

"Lunch will be coming around soon, and be sure you keep drinking plenty of liquids," she said as she left the room again, but he was already immersed in the action on the little color game screen. She chuckled softly as she went back to the bank of monitor screens at the main nurse's station. Greg House was doing fine. All his vitals were good, all his readings stable and within specs. Just another normal patient on another normal day.

XXXXX

House entertained himself for the next few hours with the Game Boy, accomplishing a few new personal best scores. Lunch had come around, but it had all sat completely untouched on the tray. His stomach had nearly rolled over when it was brought in, and he had pushed it away, opting instead for more crackers and the can of Ginger Ale. Not long after that, the offending tray of food had been wheeled away.

Everything was fine, but then he started to feel warm. Within thirty minutes, the room felt like it had rapidly increased in temperature. He broke out in a light sweat. He absently pushed the covers off of himself with one hand, trying to cool off without interrupting his game. It was working…

Then with no warning whatsoever, a sharp, piercing bolt of pain blasted up from his leg. It was so harsh and sudden that caught him completely off guard. He immediately grabbed his thigh with both hands, dropping the Game Boy, which slipped off the bed and went clattering to the floor. The pain rapidly accelerated, multiple bolts radiating from his damaged thigh and eclipsing everything else. He clamped his eyes shut, clenched his teeth, and bent over his leg, nearly falling off the bed. The pain was so white-hot in intensity that it took his breath away. He couldn't get his lungs to work…

It felt like an eternity, but it was only a matter of seconds before nurse Allinson was at his side, her arms around his shoulders, calling his name.

"Greg, it's OK, it's just a pain spike, it's OK," Carrie told him. "I've got some meds for you," she said, holding him from falling or rolling off the bed. She had seen the information changing on his monitors and she was fully prepared for this. She quickly pulled a syringe from her pocket and reached for his IV junction, injecting the contents

He immediately calmed, the pain dropping back down to it's previous non-threatening level.

"Lay back," she said, gently pushing his shoulders back onto the bed. "Come on, that's it, just lay back down."

He complied as best he could, still panting for air.

"Just relax," she told him, pulling the side rail up and clicking it into place, making sure he wouldn't roll off onto the floor. "You're OK. You had a pain spike, and you're running a fever. It's all normal, and we're treating it. Just try and relax, let the meds kick in."

The pain was better. He laid there trying to catch his breath and cool down. The room was still way too hot and he was still sweating.

His nurse stayed there by his bed, keeping a watchful eye on him as he slowly relaxed and stabilized. His temperature finally backed slowly down, and he seemed a bit more at ease.

"Didn't give you much warning on that one did it?" She asked him.

He looked over at her, shaking his head.

"It happens," she said. "Are you more comfortable now?"

"Yeah, I'm OK," he answered, wishing she would stop fussing over him. He felt like an idiot. How had he allowed himself to get so used to a lower pain level so quickly? He should have known better. Now one brief bout with the same pain he had been living with for years, and it had managed to completely shake him up.

She bent down and picked up the Game Boy off the floor. The screen was blank. She played with the on/off switch a couple times, and the little unit sprang back to life. She set it back on the bed next to him.

"Looks like you lost your high score," she said lightly.

He didn't care.

"What is this stuff anyway?" He asked her, finally getting his breathing back under control. "What are you giving me?"

"Varoquil 21," she replied. "It's one of several specialized drugs co-developed by Dr. Tomlinson. It will treat your detox symptoms and help manage your pain. And it also contains a mild sedative to help you stay relaxed. You'll be taking it right up until your surgery."

She paused for a moment, assessing his condition. He seemed to have recovered nicely.

"Are you OK, or do you want me to stay?" She asked him.

"I'm fine," he answered, feeling somewhat sleepy. "You can go."

She smiled and nodded. She made a few notes on his chart before leaving the room.

"I've still got you on the monitors," she reminded him, again. "Anything you need, I'll be right here."

House laid there staring at the ceiling after she left. The fuzzy glow he felt made him believe that these meds apparently had much more than just a _mild_ sedative. But he really didn't object to it. This was going to let him sail through detox, and if all went as planned, by this time next week he would be through surgery and cruising through PT, with his crippling pain a thing of the past… It was still such an incredible thought… could it really be true? Could he dare to let himself believe it? He laid there and closed his eyes, letting his brain toy with the thought, to play with it. He couldn't keep the slight smile from coming to his face… All those years of horrific pain coming to an end… He was going to have his life back again… A whole new, wonderful, pain-free, normal life…

Yeah, this was going to be so fucking awesome, and such a piece of cake…

XXXXX

Dr. Kit Tomlinson finished her barrage of surgeries around 10PM. She was too exhausted to even think about trying to drive home, so she headed for the Doctors

Lounge, looking forward to just crashing in the quiet room for the night. She called and checked in with her staff, getting brief updates on all her patients. Nurse Allinson found it a bit odd that Kit specifically asked about Greg House. Due to the sheer volume of people she saw and operated on, she usually didn't remember specific patients by name like that. But Carrie dutifully gave her boss the details of the day's events, the pain spike, the additional dosage treatment, and his current status, which was sleeping comfortably.

Kit thanked her, told her she would be in by late morning, and hung up. She walked through the lounge and opened the door to a quiet room, flopping down on the first bed she came to. She was fast asleep before the door fully eased closed, plunging the room into complete darkness. But this would not be just another normal day… or just another normal night…

She did not realize that she was not alone in the room…

XXXXX


	5. Ch5: Houston, We Have A Problem

**ON MY NERVES, Chapter 5: Houston, We Have A Problem**

**The only surgeon in the world who can fix House's leg ends up being a patient herself… So, now what?**

**Rated M/Adult for language.**

**Kind of a short chapter, but there's more on the way…**

**All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…**

**NITEJASMINE**

On My Nerves, Chapter 5: Houston, We Have A Problem

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

XXXXX

It was almost 11 AM the next morning before anyone realized that Dr. Kit Tomlinson was missing. She was normally in pretty early, but with her surgical schedule the day before, her staff hadn't expected her to be in until later in the morning. They had not started calling or paging her until after 9. But when an entire hour went by with no response, they grew concerned. That was not like her, not at all. She never ignored her cell phone or her pager. And then after another hour elapsed, Nurse Carrie Allinson placed an urgent call to inform the Hospital Administrator and alerted Security. A fellow nurse had been quickly dispatched to check her condo, and it was determined that Kit was not there. So a full search of the hospital property began.

Security was already somewhat ahead of the game, they had been searching for a missing patient from the psych ward for most of the night. Larry Harding. He had a habit of constantly finding ways to dodge taking his meds, and his manic paranoia and the voices would return. He was not considered dangerous, he had never hurt anyone outright. He would slip away from the psych ward, and usually just found a quiet, dark place to hole up until the staff found him. He would put up a weak, brief struggle, but then would be returned uneventfully to his room and given his meds.

It was shortly after 12:30 when Security got a 2 for 1 special. Dr. Tomlinson was discovered, lying unconscious on the floor of the Quiet Room off the Doctor's Lounge on the third floor. There were no apparent injuries that anyone could see, but she was unresponsive and could not be awakened. She was rushed down to the ER. The missing patient, Larry Harding, was also found. He was hunched in the corner of the room Kit had been found in, babbling to himself and staring up at the ceiling.

When the staff tried to question him about what had happened, he became very agitated and upset. His only reply was that the voices were very loud today. He just kept chattering that same thing over and over again. No one could get anything else or any other information out of him.

He was taken back to his room in the psych ward and put in soft restraints, just to be safe. The staff there was shocked to learn that Larry could have actually hurt someone. But that was certainly the way it looked. He was given his medication along with a mild sedative, and it was decided to try and question him again later, after his meds could take effect and he had a chance to calm down…

XXXXX

House woke up feeling pretty well, the Varoquil 21 was doing it's job admirably. He ate a little bit of breakfast, but really wasn't all that hungry. Carrie checked in on him regularly, making sure he was staying hydrated. Aside from running only a slight fever, he was detoxing fairly comfortably. He still couldn't believe how relatively easy this all seemed to be going. Even considering the brutal pain spike that had hit him yesterday, he had to admit that overall, he was feeling pretty damn good.

He couldn't wait to see Kit. He rarely if ever looked forward to seeing other people, and he couldn't remember the last time he had actually felt exited to see anyone. But she was an exception. He was incredibly impressed with her and her entire operation here. Her staff, her drugs, and her procedures. This entire wing, the whole Institute, all completely centered around the surgical skills of one single person. Kit really was the center of this universe, and he felt damn lucky to be included in it. It was all absolutely mind-blowing. Plus, just having her in the room made him feel good. He was looking forward to chatting with her again today, and hoping she would be pleased with his progress. And he was also hoping to find out how long it would be before she could do his surgery and give him his whole, new, normal, pain-free life. He again allowed his mind to toy with the idea, getting more and more comfortable with it. It made him near giddy with the prospect. He decided to try and contain himself and kill some time with the Game Boy. He picked up the little unit and switched it on, immersing himself in Mario's world.

Lunch came and went, House ate about half of it. The food really wasn't that bad here, it was pretty good actually. Now, if they could just do something about the pathetic choice of cable channels…

Shortly after that, there was some kind of commotion going on out at the nurse's station. He figured it was some kind of patient emergency and ignored it. A few moments later, Carrie came into his room and stood next to him, looking very serious. He paused the game and stared at her. His good mood quickly faded. Something was obviously very wrong. Had he done something? Were they kicking him out? Where the hell was Kit?

"Greg," she said, haltingly. She took a deep breath, then continued. "We're going around and letting everyone know... Dr. Tomlinson was… attacked last night. Right here in the hospital, by a deranged patient. We don't know any of the specifics. All we know is that she is currently being treated in the ER and that she has not regained consciousness yet."

House felt his heart drop and his stomach tighten. _No, no, no… Not her… Not now… Not when I'm so close…_

"We will continue your detox treatment, as planned, you still have an ample window of time to stay on the Varoquil 21," she continued. "And we will let you know just as soon as we hear anything further."

Carrie reached out and patted his arm, then turned to leave the room.

The last part of the statement caught his attention, snapping it into focus.

"Wait," he blurted out. "What do you mean 'an ample window of time' for the Varoquil? Is there some sort of time limit or something?"

Carrie stopped and looked at him patiently.

"Greg, all that information was in the package of consent forms you signed. Varoquil 21 is one of the drugs specifically designed by Kit to help patients get through pre-surgery detox and pain management. It's an excellent drug for short-term use. However, it is definitely _not_ an option for any kind of long-term treatment. None of these specialized drugs are. They all have a safe treatment usage window of 30 days, max. And especially with Varoquil, anything beyond that time frame and the liver and kidneys begin to degrade rapidly. Within 45 days there is complete and irreversible renal failure."

House felt his own stress level ramping up. The full realization hit him that he only had a certain time frame for this to all happen, and the clock was ticking. _Fuck._

"And if Dr. Tomlinson doesn't recover…" he started to ask, but Carrie stopped him.

"Don't worry," she said calmly, trying to reassure him. "You've got plenty of time. Think positive. I'm sure Kit will be just fine. I'll keep you posted."

House sat silently in his bed after she left, lost in thought. His mind began swirling with an ever increasing mix of worries and doubts and fears. He shut off the Game Boy and set it aside. He had completely lost interest in it.

XXXXX

The ER team worked on Kit rapidly and efficiently. They all knew her, and word about what had happened had spread through the entire hospital like wildfire. Attacked in her sleep by a psychotic patient. It was unbelievable.

Initial tests and examinations were quickly run, but unfortunately, they revealed nothing. Amazingly enough, all the results and readings were normal. And no signs of physical trauma could be found anywhere. The lead ER doctor could find absolutely no reason why Dr. Tomlinson should be unconscious. She was completely stable, but remained unresponsive. Frustrated, he ordered that all the test results be double checked, there had to something they missed. The nurse reported back to him shortly after that, informing him that all the test results had been verified. They could find absolutely nothing wrong with her.

"Then why the hell isn't she awake?!" he demanded loudly. Nobody in the ER had an answer.

He firmly believed that there had to be some kind of head injury. Yes, that had to be it. That was the only thing that explained her near-comatose state and why she wasn't responding. So he ordered an MRI, stat.

He hung his hopes of a solid diagnosis on the MRI. He felt positive that it would reveal the problem. If it did not, he had no idea what he was going to do…

XXXXX

Dinner time eventually came around, but the entire tray had sat completely untouched by House. He just laid on his bed, staring out the window, trying to fight back the overwhelming disappointment and fresh waves of hopelessness that were barraging him.

He pressed the call button again, for the fourth time in the past hour, to inquire on Kit's status. Carrie's voice responded calmly and evenly over the speaker that there was still no change, and that she would be sure to let him know as soon as there was.

He sighed heavily and laid back on the bed, closing his eyes. So close. To be so close to having his life back, only to have it yanked away by some fucking psychopathic idiot. It made him angry. No, it made him absolutely enraged. He decided to channel that energy into determination. He would _not_ admit defeat. Kit Tomlinson would recover. She would be alright. She _had_ to be. And she _would_ be, goddammit. If he had to personally go track her down and treat whatever her injuries were all by himself… Then, that's what he would do. Both for her, and for himself.

He finally fell into a fitful sleep much later, well aware of the sound of the softly ticking clock on the wall just outside his room…

XXXXX


End file.
